Breaking Willow
by hazelartemis
Summary: They are powerless, the capital, they can break bodies, but they can't break spirits.  They can't break me.  Join Willow as she get's thrown into the never ending struggle created by the capital.  Can I please get some reviews ppl?
1. Chapter 1:  Reaping

44th Annual Hunger Games!

Tributes:

District One-Luxery Items:

Male: Cabriol

Female: Mirror

District Two- Stone mining, military, airforce:

Male: Orei

Female: Till

District Three-Electronics:

Male: Sadon

Female: Luster

District Four- Fishing

Male: Nereus

Female: Shasa

District five- Power

Male: Luz

Female: Katima

District six- Transportation

Male: Fleet

Female: Flutter

District Seven- Lumber

Male: Tynan

Female: Sienna

District Eight- Textiles

Male: Lyons

Female: Shade

District Nine- Grain

Male: Graze

Female: Willow

District Ten- Livestock

Male: Rangle

Female: Filana

District Eleven- Agraculture

Male: Twian

Female: Lecea

District Twelve- Coal Mining

Male: Jett

Female: Nuri

All day long it's been on my mind, the reaping. My concentration has been lacking, all day as I tried my best to harvest I could not. You'd think, that with these fields that stretch out over land as flat as your could imagine, where the grain grows in abundance, we'd have enough to eat. We don't though, and so I signed up for the tesserea to earn back a feeble amount of grain that I'd plucked with my own bleeding hands.

It's noon when the whistle sounds, and the peace keeper renounced our duties. I'm shaking, my names in that glass ball so many times it would be a miracle if I wasn't picked. Back home there are ten mouths to feed, all too young or too simple to work. I cross over to meet my friend Dysis, who squeezes my hand when we draw close to each other.

She is smaller then I, with darker skin more of a burnt carmel, only her tawny hair reminds me that she is really from District Nine like I am, that and her lean figure. Dark skin is common, but not nearly as dark as hers, my skin is more a copper like the rest of us so it blends in with my hair a little. I reach up to my tangled mess of red hair, unsure of what to say except. "Luck." In a low, defeated voice.

As the clock strikes fifteen past, a woman walks onto the stage. She's extraordinarily small with the largest doe eyes I've ever seen in a mysterious shade of emerald. On top of her head is what looked lay a pile of, what I took to be wheat, in honor of our district. Murmurs filled my ears, what had they done with the previous announcer?

As if in answer, she clears her through. "Hello district nine!" she giggles. "What a pleasure this is! Uh, well, um . . ." she taps the mic nervously. "This is such a great honor, and, um, I . . ." she trails off. "My name is Flora Hivers, and this year I will be taking the place of . . ." she's forgotten his name, but then she glances to the teleprompter and smiles. "Orion Veran! So, let's get started shall we?"

The usual Treaty of Treason is read, the mayor smiles down at us, and then Flora Hivers gleefully rushes to grab the microphone back. She explains the games, that two tributes from each district, one male and one female will complete in the Hunger Games, a fight to the death on television. But of course, it's masked in glory and fame, something only the capital people would buy into.

She claps her hands together and stumbles back a bit. "Oh! Dear me!" she stutters, collecting herself. She bounces on her heels and then rocks back and forth for a moment before regaining her train of thought. "So, here comes the real fun! Ladies first, I think . . ." she looks behind her to the victors for support and they nod cooly. "Alright, so ladies first." with a sort of sick determination she strides over to the glass ball and rubs her hands together. Then, in one fluid motion she picks a name from the ball nearly tipping it over.

A moment of silence. "Willow Ollimore." she says the name so sharply it hurts, or maybe it's just the feeling I have inside my gut. I don't cry. I don't return the sorry glances. They are powerless, the capital, they can break bodies, but they can't break spirits. They can't break me. People want to fight, especially when something is to be fought for. So I'm going to fight for the broken bodies and save broken spirits.

"Willow." she murmurs.

My mother is frantically detaching the twins from her sides, pushing through the crowd to no avail, for they are so tightly knit. My whole family is shouting to me, screeching my name and holding their hands out to me. There are some apologetic smiles, some tears, but none that stop Flora Hivers from waving and smiling at the camera as it periodically trains back onto her.

Pretending I don't notice the pain in my mothers eyes as I catch them, I wave and smile through glistening tears and then walk up onto the stage. Those burning hot tears prick my eyes, and I hope the cameras can't pick up on them. No one wants a weak tribute, and I'm bound to be liked better if I'm strong.

Flora Hivers seems sorry for me, and she pats me on the back awkwardly. "Well, it seems as if your loved by many, but you must be enjoying seeing them so absurdly happy for you!"

It's all I can do not to shout at her, because what kind of person takes that as happiness? Only, I just nod and smile, trying to hold back my sobs and not managing well at all. I have to gasp between each word and try to crack a smile, which mostly looks like a grimace. "I . . . just. . . can't . . . stand to see them . . .be away from people . . . people who . . . love me so much." I stammer. And then I break down, trying desperately now not to seem to scared, but seeming even more desperate as I screw up my face into what I hope looks tenacious, but I realize must seem like I'm in excruciating pain, which I am.

Sinking into a chair behind me and knowing it was not meant for me, I rest my head between my knees and sigh. Hang on. Hang in there, I tell myself and finally gain the courage to look up and, just when the cameras are ready to pull away and find themselves on Flora, I stand up and grin at the audience.

"I'm not going to let anyone down." I say through gritted teeth. "Not anyone I love."

My mother calls to me, finally close to the stage. By now, she has had enough sense to look like she is really genuinely happy for me, and instead of crying she just begins to clap and smile. Some people join in, and thankful for the release in tension, Flora cries, slightly too loudly into the mic,

"Let's have a round of applause for, uh, Willow Ollimore." It's fuzzy the way she says it and it squeaks, but I'm gracious because it drowns out the occasional sob.

And so I spend the rest of the time on stage while she picks the male tribute smiling at the cameras and primping, flipping my hair and randomly giggling, hoping I appear to enjoy all this evil.

The male tribute is someone I don't know very well, he's muscular and a year older then I am, intimidating as anything I've ever seen. No one claps for him or shouts to him, and I realize his parents are too sick with the influenza to even bother coming. His name is Graze Azato and all three of them will be dead soon enough, I think, and I frown before I remember to clap giddily.

Flora has one last thought before she dismisses us, and she rushes up to the front of the stage, heels echoing in the silent square.

"Well, I can tell this is just going to be a wonderful year of the games!" she stammers nervously. And with more assurance she adds, "May the odds be ever in your favor!" She's been practicing that line I can tell. It's the only thing that seems stable about her, and I can picture her standing in front of a mirror and rehearsing it over and over.

After the reaping, I close my eyes and enter the Justice Building with the peacekeepers not even bothering to watch me. I take a seat on the couch and begin to talk to myself about all the goodbyes I must say just right in order to be remembered just so.

First up is my mother and father, and my seven siblings. They push past the peacekeepers who don't even shout at them, let alone beat them as they would have ordinarily.

"Fifteen!" sighs my mother, kneeling down so her face shines up at me instead of down. I've always loved how she does that, how she makes herself just an inch shorter then you so you are in control. She knows children, my mother does, and she loves them like nothing else. Maybe even my father, who right now, is standing behind me, his hands on my shoulders.

The twins curl up beside me, their ringlets falling onto my lap. Emrinda, who is only ten stands behind my mother sobbing into her hair that is in a neat bun on the top of her head, and the others are scattered in various states of distress.

I lean in to my mother and just stare into her eyes. "I love you." I whisper. "And I'm going to come home so I can always love you."

My father is now clenching my shoulders so hard it hurts, but I don't tell him to stop. Instead, I reach up and touch his rough hand and sigh. "I'm going to miss each of you, and every bit of you is so precious to me. I love you." And I'm on the verge of crying. "Your love will get me through, if you send me it the entire way I am making it back home."

I can't say anymore, but I don't need to. We just sit together and cry and hold each other until the time is up. Then my mother takes of her ring, the one that was her mothers and then welded to one my father got her. Grandmama's ring is silver and simple with only a small purple stone in it, but the one that was her wedding ring is the most extravagant piece of jewelry I've seen in Nine, with four sapphires and my mothers name engraved inside. It took the entire village to pay for it, but in the end the blacksmith had a change of heart and gave it to them free.

Without hesitating, I slip it on over my pointer finger. My mothers hands have been a smaller size as mine since I was twelve years old, even though I'm still not her height. I hug her, then my father and then it is really time for them to leave, and they blow me kisses and call to me until I can no longer hear them.

I have two more visitors, Zia and Dysis, who hug me and sing to me in their melodic voices. Finally, Dysis agrees to recite the poem she wrote for me when my little brother died of the flue, the one called Weep Willow. It now holds no message but of fear. It's only two versus, but sweet and almost has a tune.

"We are forever, holding on

we'll never weep, Willow

we stand united, holding on

Never to weep, Willow

I've spent hours holding on

along you side, don't weep Willow

we'll go on laughing, holding on

forever, never to weep, Willow."

Reaching out, I touch her face and kiss her forehead. Zia just pulls me into her for numerous hugs and sings nursery rhymes. I can't tell how many times the words "forever, never, to weep willow." are said. I kiss each one a second time before leaving, and, tears flowing from their eyes and down my face, we say goodbye.


	2. Chapter 2: Decorations

I have ten minutes to clean up before I am exposed again. And then I notice something that Dysis and Zia left, and it's a chain with a locket. Inside is a picture of each one, and underneath the words "Forever, never to weep, willow." I take the ring off my finger and put it on the chain, a much better place for it. I wipe my eyes and walk out, still laughing and waving to the onlookers, many of whom think I've gone crazy. Once in awhile I catch a glimpse of someone I know and I wave with both my hands and jump up and down, laughing and smiling hugely.

Trains have always made me uneasy. When I was eight I was given the job of station post, loading the grain into the cars. Before then I'd only seen the smoke bellowing from it, and watched in fear as it took off. But now, inside one, I feel no such fear. Instead, I feel safe and warm, and strangely good. The ride is quite short really, we'll get there by midnight and they'll want me wide awake, so I take the opportunity to sleep. I pull the shades and curl up, finding strength in the feather mattress.

I awake once to eat something quickly, calling for a servant and finding that they have a wide array of delicacies here. Choosing something simple, I ask for a salad, but what I find is a fennel, prosciutto and pomegranate adorned salad with goat cheese and two hunks of warm buttered white bread. I devour it in a matter of minutes, and fall back asleep in a bed that engulfs me whole.

As the moon shines down on the capital, I really do feel happy, but only before I remember it's a moon that means the death of 23 people will soon arrive. In fact, every moon here means that death will come. I begin to hate the moon.

My prep team comes to soon for my liking, at one A.M. they take me to a little room filled with buzzing machines to curl and straiten hair, strips that pull off hair, bleaches, dyes and any beauty product you could think of. For me, that wasn't that impressive, because all I knew of was lipstick, which my mother had used sometimes.

Each thing is used on me, they bleach the hair above my lip, add highlights to my already brightly colored hair, and wax my legs, arms, and any other part of me that they can find. And then, a toe peeks in followed by my stylist.

She is silvery white with fawn eyes and frost like hair in pale blue and white. Her lips are set with shimmering stones, blue and purple and hot pink, similar to my ring. Instead of seeming to incredibly freakish, she seems to be like snow.

Wrinkling her nose at me in distaste, she circles me like a shimmering white wolf. Then she makes me undress and stand completely naked before a mirror.

"You'r provocative. If you could make it work personality wise, you have a good body for it. "

I bite my lip. I've never tried provocative, sexy, never flirted once in my life, but instead of saying that I shrug. "Of course I could pull it off. You just haven't met me."

She likes this. "Your mentor is Tarin, correct?"

I nod, though I haven't spoken to him yet.

"He won six years ago. That was my first year as a stylist in your district. Thank god I got over ten! Cows? There is very little you can do with them, but I managed alright I guess. You are going to look fabulous!" She smiles fondly at the memory of Tarin, or maybe of being promoted. "My names Dazzle, but I go by Dazy, like the first part of my name with an "y" on the end. Don't pronounce it Daisy, like the flower. Did you like Tarin's outfit?" she wonders, still surveying me, but not harshly like she was at first.

Grinning, I vigorously agree. Tarin looked gorgeous. His hair was naturally light, less ginger and more a tangy blond. He'd worn white loose fitting trousers and no shirt, instead his chest was painted as a magnificent field. He was so close to angelic, but when he was let loose, his muscle that had been so envied turned to be his best weapon, as he could crush and hurt in hand to hand combat, not to mention, he was handy with a spear that he'd made himself.

Dazy sat crossed legged on the floor. "Well, you'll be nothing like that." And so we got started. Opening ceremonies are to come in the evening, but Dazy says I have too much work for time to be wasted.

My team is only two people who she has carefully selected called Illyria and Sugar, who seem about as loyal to me as dogs, but useless and silly. Illyria dresses like a circus clown. Her skin is paper white, her eye make up is dark and she has drawn two bright pink circles over cheeks and drawn pictures inside them. Sugar is fairly moderate, although her makeup is heavy handed, with dark green lines under her eyes and lashes that reach above her brows and are covered in an aerial pink, just like her hair which hangs to her knees in a thick braid.

Dazy instructs Illyria in my preparations, and at first I'm mesmerized by the drawings she takes out. Her notebook if filled with colors of eyes, of lipsticks and feathers. Everything is other worldly, as I've only ever seen my mother wear makeup twice. Flashes of joy cross Sugar's face when Dazy hands her a small brush covered in a black liquid, and she paints dramatic lines to enhance my eyes.

"First, your hair. Layers and bangs, then dye." and so they snip and scissor my hair until I am quite sure I have none left, but as I face myself in the mirror, I am quite pleased.

My hair is stunning and seems to shine, in fact, I notice that when it ripples as I move, light bounces around in it.

Illyria grins. "It's a special coating. I'd use it if Dazy weren't so protective of her product. Wouldn't want her secret getting out!"

And I have bangs! I shout inside. If I weren't so shaky, hurting from waxing and screaming inside with anticipation of my death, I'd love my haircut, but all I could manage was a slight nod.

The real shock came when Dazy showed me my outfit.

"I'd had it ready for someone girly as I saw on the screen, but now I know that's not it. Like it?" She held up a dress that seemed to be made of individual string that flowed down my body. Underneath was a a layer that matched my skin tone, but on the bottom was painted in greens and earth browns. As I looked down I noticed that the strings seemed to move on it's own, as if in a breeze, and at the bottom were the heads of wheat, perfectly golden. They were made of cloth, but seemed to be straight from a field. What scared me was how short it was, how it would probably only come two or three inches down my thighs.

My shoes were boots in the same gold and mixed with red to match my hair. They reached the middle of my thigh and laced up, but somehow didn't seem too scandalous, perhaps because they were made out of supple leather and had only a small two inch heel. Up the shoes were wheat heads and paintings, and when I finished staring I was a painting. My face was painted, my eyes covered in gold and black, my cheeks bronzed. Miniature lights on my eye lashes illuminated my now color changing eyes, that went from dark black, to bright yellow, to a dark fulvous color.

Even my nails were painted intricately, and were now fake and long so I could do almost nothing. The only thing that I didn't like was the scene of wheat that hung over my chesy. They'd enhanced me as best they could, and now I needed to act. I am the sun and the wheat, I am the field, but that alone won't get me sponsors.

Finally, Illyria can't resist, and she takes me aside for a moment to explain the outfit and give me the "extra touch" she's been working on.

"Dazy and I spent hours coming up with an outfit. Usually, she uses a time period, like nine or ten years ago with the tributes from ten she used the cowboys. And so for you, we decided to go with a period called the flapper period, at least to us stylists." She holds out a head dress with three stalks of wheat coming up, and shows me a picture of what I take to be a flapper. My dress is a mirror image, except for the fact it's been altered to seem like wheat. The headband in the photo has feathers, but I like mine better.

The chariot rides will take place at dusk, but Dazy and Tarin decide that a run through is necessary, so while I'm asleep in my chamber Flora Hivers raps on my door and giggles triumphantly when I get up.

Her lips spread upwards, beaming at me and she brushes her straw hair back. "Your so lazy! Do you have any idea what time it is?" she laughs as it's a joke, but I can tell she's flustered at my sleeping in.

I shake my head. "I'm so sorry, Flora, I guess all the stress is getting to me."

Nodding she purses her lips together and then crakes a slight smile. "How careless of me, of course! I brought you some food in case you wanted anything to settle your stomach. You haven't eaten in hours!"

Rolling my eyes, I remember my manners and don't point out how sometimes I don't eat in days. But Flora is not one to catch signals, so she just skips off and expects me to follow, and I do, nut with less skipping and more scowling.

It's now that I meet Tarin, he's tan and muscular, nearly perfect for a victor. But he's wearing a thin cashmere button up, but without the buttons up, and denim work pants, instead of his tribute outfit, a woolen sweater and long snow pants. Tarin had been put into a freezing wonderland, where the water came in ice and the only food was fish that swam in the water that froze you if you tried to dunk any part of you in it. Even the trees hung thick with ice, but somehow he'd understood it, even though he'd never faced cold in out district.

"Hello, Willow, Graze." he nods to me and a figure I didn't know was standing behind. Graze looks good to. Though I've never really paid much attention to boys, I pay attention then. His hair has been dyed a bright red, and his outfit holds more of vibrant sunset tones then mine. But he's painted with similar scenes.

Looking at Tarin, I notice he's automatically sizing us up. I put my hand on my hip and bat my eyelashes a few times, and then break into a giggle and let my hand fall limp. He will not be fooled.

"Look, I heard the idea, for making you all provocative. I like it, but your going to have to play it up. I was thinking, to make it easier, you'll be innocent, sexy without knowing you are. See hang one hand down and finger the edge of your skirt, lift it up a little absentmindedly and the other reach up and twirl your hair. Don't say anything without smiling, giggling, or pouting. And bring attention to yourself, good or otherwise."

Nodding, I feel thankful. Giggly and girlish, forgetful and a splash of sexy is slightly more manageable.

"While in the cart, cross your leg over Graze's, and once, only once, kiss him. Don't act like you like him, just kiss him and whisper luck in his ear. Make it super noticeable so they all know what you said on the screen, and then just giggle and turn away."

They have my act all planned out, but I'm still a nervous wreck. Once when I was in school I starred in the play, but that's as much acting experience as I have, not that acting is going to help me win. What's going to matter is how I can use a weapon, and so far, I haven't so much as touched a blade. Tarin and Dazy don't seem to care, instead, they're taking this girlish manner I created for myself and doing everything they can to sell it as desirable.

Finally, when sunset begins Graze and I are brought to the chariot which they have decorated to look like a large woven basket. I climb in and try to make him less uncomfortable, which, given the fact that I'm draped over him wearing very little clothing is hard.

Just before the chariot is pulled out, Flora comes to instruct on on the last bits of whatever she thinks we need to know. For a moment I see she's scared, though I can't imagine what for.

"You'll be wonderful!" she coos, taking my hand in hers. "I know this must be just too much to handle, but you two are so great! I've never had tributes at all, but I'm glad my first ones are you two. I'm proud to be your escort." Flora actually has a tear in her eye when she finishes. "I'm just. . . so proud!"

Holding back laughter, I watch her pull herself away comically. She trips off, her eight inch heels only making her around five two and incompetent with even basic tasks like walking.

Graze stares at me hard, and then as the horses begin to move, brushes my cheek with his fingers, and mutters the same thing I murmured to Dysis on the reaping day, with the same defeated tone. "Luck." He says. And we're on camera.

As we emerge capital people are staring. We fit right in with the other tributes, the luxury items from one are covered in velvet and shining in gems, the stone cutters from two are covered in a silvery dust and mirror rocks with geodes hung from ever inch of their body. Only somehow, the simpleness of my outfit catches their eyes, like they've never seen something so perfect. And then I smile and wave and bat my eyes, flipping my hair and ruffling Graze's. They are going nuts.

My posture remains good, but I try new things ever few hundred feet. First, waving, the easy stuff. Then I move my legs so I can kneel down on the comfy seat and try and position myself as best as I can. Upstaging Graze didn't seem like a problem at first, but then I notice he to is playing a sensual angle. Unlike Tarin having a shirt makes him sexier then I could think. Everyone once in a while, I notice him wipe fake sweat from his brow and unforgotten his shirt a little more. They like it, the capital freaks, and I have to work even more to keep myself going. By the time we hit the square, Graze has almost finished taking his shirt off, and I've shown off more of myself then I can say comfortably. But that's what they want, a good show.

President Snow has not always run Panem, in the past few years though, everyone has forgotten their even was a previous ruler. His handsome, Snow, with dark brown hair and perfect skin. If he was not so proud, he'd look like another tribute, adjusting himself as he makes ready for the camera, maybe even a little nervous. When the tributes pull into view though, thinking it's the first time we can see him, he smiles grotesquely, as if he doesn't know how.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the 44th Annual Hunger Games. All of Panem is watching you right now, choosing which one will rise to glory and fame. This year is bound to be historic, monumental even!" he grins and stares into a camera unblinking. "So, before we go, let me say this. May the odds be ever in your favor."

I don't like Snow. Handsome as he is, he is evil. Giving each of us a sly smile, each of us a wink that doesn't mean he's trustworthy, but rather that he knows just how you'll die. I keep my place, waving once in awhile to a camera, catching the eyes of the male tributes and staring down the females as if they stand in my way.

As soon as we are finished listening we are brought into a large hall in the Training Center set for 24 tributes to sit around a table, only no one does. Instead,they stand around and talk awkwardly to the people they will soon shoot down or strangle, drown or stab as instructed. Graze walks to meet a group of male tributes and I follow. He's making jokes as if they are friends when Flora comes up to me and hisses in my ear.

"Well don't just stand there!" she breathed, nudging me with her elbow. "Gosh, you are tempting, but you have to put yourself out there! Make. Me. Proud." She says each of the last words like separate sentences and shakes her head at me when I bite my lip.

But I do as she says and but into Graze's conversation, making him scowl a little and give a small mocking laugh.

"Hello!" I chime to the boy from Six, Fleet, who is slightly less intimidating in blush. Remembering Tarin's words, I fix my hair and play with my skirt, and I can't help feeling it's making him a little scared instead of aroused. "You look fantastic! Gorgeous!" I catch myself before I get to far into clothing and makeup to seem helpless and childish instead of sensual. I wait a moment for him to say something.

He clears his throat. "My name's Fleet, you are . . ."

Batting my eyelashes furiously, I hope the golden and pink makeup they applied to my eyes is attractive enough. "Willow."

"That's, uh, pretty." says Fleet, furrowing his brow. Graze laughs at us, and turns away to talk with the district three boy, Sadon, who's covered in flashing lights that are really quite obnoxious. Sadon takes in Graze who looks lethal and I can tell he's briefly considering him as a threat, but there are much more dangerous weapons talking amongst us, one's who've reached their full height and who've been training for ages, like it was their job. I decide to call them the careers.

During the night I pay little attention to any of the girls, except another sultry looking one from Three called Luster with hair to rival mine, pin straight and jet black with a slight purple highlight her stylist has put in . She has a striking face with sharp angles, but right away I knew she was a target.

Walking slowly over to her I concentrate on the swing of my hips, the seemingly mindless giggles I give and waves to the other tributes as I strut over to her.

Using a pouty face I take a glass of wine from a nearby server, even though I've never actually been able to down a full glass. "Boys are not much for company." I tell her, taking a long sip from the glass and wishing I could spit it out.

Shrugging, the girl rolls her eyes. "Don't I know it. At least your stylists let you be who you are. I saw your reaping when I was on the train. You know exactly how to be tantalizing, don't you? So flirtatious. Just 'cause I look one way doesn't mean that's me. They're taking me over instead of just making me over." Then she hangs her head. "They'd hate me for telling you this, because they still think it's my biggest advantage. They didn't even ask me to show them what I could do with weapons. Back home I can use the wires for anything I need, to trap food and make weapons if I need to. District five, maybe it's not known for weapons, but when push comes to shove and we're hungry, I've got snares and traps under my fingers easy."

Before the fact that she'll be vying for my blood in the arena sinks in, I become sympathetic. Because all these people, the ones I'll be hunting will full intent to draw their lives away, are humans. Capital people, with their dyed skin and alterations don't seem like people at all, a better word would be animals, or mutts, because really, how different are they from the monsters they created to hunt down the rebels? The ones they altered to a point where they no longer seemed to come from any origin but a lab. Only the tributes, this girl from four who I don't even know, could have been a friend if I wasn't finding her weak points so that when the moment came, I could target them.

"I'd be interested in seeing what you could do. If you as good as you say you are, then I want you as an ally. And this isn't who I am." I tell her.

For the first time, I see her break her fiery demeanor and seem, at least, moderately happy. "So you'll take me. If you like me. And you'll take Sadon. He's only fourteen, barely, but maybe he'll be of use. Anyway, our district views loyalty as the utmost importance. If I was to leave him, even if I won, I'd be no hero. Thankyou."

Together, Luster and I spend the night in conversation, really getting to know each other and I begin to like her. Not once do I ever think about her death, all I think about is how I will not be the one to kill her. In fact, I tell myself, I will not kill anyone who has no chance to change their fate. Who doesn't even find the possibility of fame attractive. Although, I realize that pretty much limits the people I can kill to the careers, who have become the district one, two, and four kids.

Once in awhile a boy walks up to us, after all, who can resist two dazzling girls? The only memorable visitor is Tynan, a boy from seven. Though thin and smaller then the others, there is a cunning edge to his voice, and I know he'll be able to manipulate us. I also add him to the ones I could kill, for he tells us in all honesty how easy he finds it to enjoy the games, how winning with bring him glory and he will have no problem losing those lives for it.

Snow interrupts us just as I feel the effect of the half a cup of wine I drunk starting to tire me. I don't feel happy to go, and I say goodnight actually feeling a little bit of pleasure. When the sun comes around I'll see if Luster can really be of use, or if I can for that matter.

Believing that training would start when the some came up was an understatement. Training starts at noon, but preparations start before dawn. The door is beaten with loud raps from Flora at five in the morning, and she hustles in, orders the avox around to open the shades, make me coffee, and put out clothes, and sits on the foot of my bed.

Bouncing up and down she gives me a round of applause. "You were fabulous last night! I think there were nine boys who couldn't take the heat, but that was perfect! So, today, you have to be lethal. What can you do?"

Truthfully, if I could get my hands on a scythe I'd be golden, but maybe a sword would also work for me. I have very little experience hunting, as in my district the food was made mostly by having small gardens. Harvesting involves me swinging a scythe and running back and forth, and in fact, I'm pretty speedy, which is why my main job is as a messenger. I have a lot to learn.

I have a special outfit for this to, just to keep up my act for the other tributes. Dazy hands me a sleeveless shirt made of some sort of material she calls breathable because of the small holes in the under layer, but is so tight it is actually pretty restricting. I don't argue even though if I had a choice between my rags for harvest and this, I'd go with the rags.

Training will begin as soon as Flora stops fussing over me and we get down there. Having Flora as our escort is pretty hard, as she is always running late, but I don't mention this just in case I'd hurt her fragile feelings. Graze is there to, with his prep team, who are harsh looking and mostly male, not to mention a much larger group then mine. Six or seven people stand around him, each closer and closer to freak then the other. Even Flora seems slightly scared, because she tiptoes around them to grab Graze and then push us into training.

Rules are read off, stations explained, and then we are given free reign. I know weapons are a main focus since I already know edible plants and camouflage, as I've done a reasonable amount of other survival skills like making shelter and starting fires back at home. When we would harvest late we'd make a little hut out of the tallest grasses and grains and start little fires. Together, Dysis and Zia and I would stay for the weeks of the harvest in the huts we made, leaving the fields only when medicine and food ran short. Not to mention, I'm fairly strong from spending the winter months manning the factory, which is left to the older inhabitants who have suffered to much sun damage, or who are to frail to spend the long hours harvesting during the spring, summer, and all.

First, I head to the sword station where I find myself leaning to a Falx or sickle, as it seems to work as a scythe, but I tear myself away and work with a long silver blade. I'm reasonably good, and the assistant is enthusiastic about my skills. When I disarm her effectively after hours and hours of practice, I find myself smiling wholeheartedly.

Then I go to watch Luster make complex snares and electrical traps. Quickly, she shows me how to make a compass, and even filter salt water. Apparently, because Three is located right on the ocean and food and water is so scarce, natural recourses are used as much as possible. She can also make a fairly decent knife out of a stone and make a dart gun using a thin bit of wire, some cloth and hollow piece of bamboo.

"No guarantee they'll have this all in the arena, but I'm pretty handy whittling and I bet I could hollow out a stick." She then continues by showing off her ability to wield a knife and use a spear. "If you want me. Take me now." she says and just nod, not smiling and not frowning, because I have struck a good partner.

By then I have little time to do anything except move to the dining hall where the president has made sure we have no choice but to interact with each other live, seemingly friendly and enjoying each others company.

It wasn't so bad last night when I was able to make small talk, flirt, and finally settle in with someone who I found interesting, but now I'm stuck between a girl from twelve who's bone thin and stares at more long and hard before deciding to not say anything at all, a beefy cattle boy who's named Rangle and who talks slowly and with fierce articulation. He's unpleasant, reliving the previous games and his friends who've died in them. District Ten seems to be tightly knit.

Catching Luster's eye, I note she's enjoying herself as much as I am. The boy who sits beside her, like Rangle is beefy, but in a more attractive, well fed way. Rangle seems to be build strong, but still has the tell tale signs that he's not always well fed. This boy, Orei, is what I call a career, but he's falling into a carefully set trap that Luster has left for him. I do the same, setting a trap for Rangle, and he falls for it quickly.

In answer to a question about what he does with the cattle he grins and sets down his fork with a loud clang and replies happily. "Well, the main cattle farm has thousands of cows, but sheep is also a big industry. The capital likes lamb, see, I mean, we send off hundreds of lambs a day to be made into delicious stews. Probably close to five thousand a week at the least, ten at the most. And that's just out farm."

Usually, I would find no problem in the slaughter of these animals, knowing everyone must eat, but somehow the lambs seem to close to my circumstances. Taking the youngest and most helpless creatures and sending them to be made into a meal set before the easy-living capital people is to much like taking us, helpless and small, and turning us into a meal of enjoyment. He can tell I'm disgusted, and so changes the subject. "We don't have much grain, just meat in our district. Very little bread actually, mostly from barley because we can take a little if we sneak it from the barns." Grinning he waits for me to speak, and I understand it's an invitation to talk about my district.

Blowing through my lips I finish by rolling up my eyes as if I'm thinking. "We've got bread, but not as much as you'd think. All the harvest goes to the capital, all but the meager rations we get in pay. We get a small portion that's given out per member of your family. A half cup of grain per each person, so at the end of everyday we get ten cups of grain. Not a lot for a family like mine, with two working and eight not. Eight kids and two parents, one of whom is often pregnant or working in the factory. You can trade your ration for baking powder or sugar and sometimes something better like candy or meat. It makes our bread pretty dull, the rations, three cups of flour, some baking powder and oil. Look, see this bread over here, it's from my district." I hold up the little circular loaf, a miniature of the ones we make in our district. Of course, it's nicer, with more substance and more then the little bit of yeast we can spare. It's golden brown instead of dark and close to burnt like the ones the oven creates at home, but it gives a pretty good idea.

Rangle nods agreeably and asks if I do the cooking, and so I tell him about the hours my mother has spent in the kitchen with me, trying to teach me the art and how I'm hopeless. Cameras are trained on us. The game makers want desperately for us to be friends so that it's that much more entertaining for the audience when we have to turn on each other. Glares are being shot at us with venom and hatred , but I keep laughing and talking like I don't notice, even though my insides are crawling because I'm so nervous. My only hope is to engage the district 12 girl in conversation so that they see it's not merely an act.

Learning her name is Nuri and she has a brother and a younger sister is a start, but I really want it to seem like we're genuine. Her age. That's the first thing that gets me. She's thirteen, her birthday was in August and it was the best one she's ever had, with a real cake and candles. There was a tablecloth in the dining room, spread out of the crude wooden table. I begin to picture her, not as as a shy kid who's scared at their death sentence, but as a kind and interesting person. "Are you nervous to talk to Ceaser? Gosh, I know I am!" I can't help it. I throw in the fake line anyway, to see if it will phase her. It doesn't. She's already decided she trusts me. "Every year we see him with the tributes and no I can't help wondering how they'll be portrayed. My stylists will want me sexy, my mentor will want the same, but that makes me seem shallow."

Eyes wide, the girl just stares. She has hollow cheeks and full lips beneath a small nose and grey eyes. Her olive skin looks pretty paired with her short dark hair.

"I'm elusive. They couldn't whip me into anything else." she whispers, and then sips from her glass. "They know I'm a goner already, I know they're trying to make my brief stay comfortable, because no one expects me back." She drinks again and then falls quiet.

For a moment, I ponder this and wonder if I should allow her into our alliance, but she showed no real skill or training aside from being able to run, and I'm not sure how much good that's going to do.

"Elusive. That's very . . . interesting." I manage. By not even asking her to join us, I've decided she will die. Somehow I've given up on this frail child, and I hate myself for it. "Have you considered an ally?" I wonder.

Looking at me, she nods. "I have one. Jett, he's seventeen and he can handle himself." she tells me. I'm glad I don't have to offer to be an ally, but at the same time I want her. And I want Jett. Nuri, Jett, Luster, Sadon, and me. We could to do it. We could win. And then I realize we couldn't because there will only be on of us who'll walk away alive, and maybe even then, we'll be too broken. I start to doubt what I've always thought. The capital can break anything they want to.


End file.
